Thanks for the Memories
by Auto-Alchemechanicist
Summary: Twenty memories featuring the Great USA and UK and their wonderful sibling relationship. Rated for language and some themes along the way.
1. Offspring

**Title: Sweet Children of Mine  
Author: Auto-Alchemechanicist  
Claim: US x UK  
Character(s): America, Britain  
Table/Prompt:Life/18: Offspring  
Word Count: 1,661  
Rating: T  
Summary: Some of the States want to leave their home and America doesn't know what to do, which makes him consult with Britain.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Hima-papa does.  
Part of LiveJournal's HetaChallenge Table Challenge!  
**

_**A/N 1: This was inspired by the recent news about 20 states wanting to secede from the U.S., which is sad and stupid because they're being stubborn children, especially Texas. This upset me very much, so I had this going on in my head a lot. Enjoy.**_

* * *

America sat on a bench outside of his home, trying to get the cool, night air to relax him, but it only made him shiver from the tension he had.

His 'kids' were acting like rebellious teenagers that didn't get the iPods they wanted and were whining and kicking and screaming that they were going to run away because they hated their father.

However, they were complaining because the boss they wanted for America didn't win, which to him was strange because he liked his current boss just fine and they didn't know what it was like to deal with things as an entire country. They only knew how to deal with things on a state level.

He just didn't understand why they were reacting so radically, especially Texas. His glasses were really starting to slip off his face, succeeding in getting America's attention by trying to get them to stay in place. But the spectacles would continue to slide down.

The last time this had happened was when the Civil War occurred, and it had only been eleven of his children that had acted rebelliously. Now, there were twenty that were unhappy and wanted to leave, which caused stress on him. How could they be so ungrateful to him? He was trying the best he could to continue being the greatest country in the world and here they were, ignoring his efforts and signing petitions for secession. Even New York petitioned to leave!

"_Sorry, dude. It's not you, or me; it's my people, and they want out."_ The New Yorker was very straightforward about it all.

"You look like you're about to kill someone," he heard a familiar voice say as he furrowed his eyebrows and kept thinking while resting his chin on his hand.

"Do you volunteer?" America asked as Britain sat next to him and began to look around casually.

"Not really, but I do volunteer to be inquisitive. What's the deal with your states? Did they get mad at you because you're going to tax them more?"

America avoided looking at him. "I think it has to do with my boss."

"Really? How odd. I like your boss, actually. At least he avoided comparing you to Europe in any way, unlike his contender, who quite frankly offended us," Britain stated.

"You wish you were like me," America mumbled.

"No, we don't. So why did you want to see me at such a time?"

Why _did _he call him? America wasn't one to take advice from anyone, especially Britain, but he felt like he was the only one that came close to understanding his position. Well, he felt he understood him the most since he _did _raise him. He _should _know how he is, right?

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to talk—"

"Spit it out, or I'll leave."

Harsh, little bitch, was he? For being his older brother, he sure was bitter. And he had every reason to act that way towards him because of how he broke away so suddenly.

"Okay, I wanted to ask…how you dealt with it."

America's question caught Britain off guard and confused him a bit. "Can you be more specific on what that 'it' is?"

"You know, when someone turns on you."

Britain knew _a lot _about _that_ issue. It had not just been America that had decided to become independent. However, nobody had hurt him as badly as he had. Britain began to think.

"Um, well, I did throw things around. And drank a lot. But I think you know that already. I also assume you've noticed I antagonize you quite a lot. And I did use force to try to stop the rebellions. However, you saw that did not work, at least not with you."

He was being too open, but he must've understood that this was one of those times where America decided to be serious and thoughtful, which would lead to him coming up with something to resolve this huge issue he was dealing with.

"You didn't do something that doesn't sound…depressing?"

"Well, if you have any better ideas, I suggest you give them to me!" Britain yelled. It was bad enough America was asking him about how he dealt with things, but now he was asking if he had any 'good' ways to deal with his problems? The nerve.

He turned to look at his younger brother and noticed he was still avoiding his gaze and decided to fish in his pocket for something. He brought the box close to America's face and offered it to him. "Want one?"

The younger nation looked at it skeptically and took a cigarette from the pack. He wasn't one to smoke, but what the hell, really? It was just one. After Britain lit the cigarette, he felt more vulnerable, though, and the Brit couldn't help but notice that a tear ran down the American's face.

America was…crying? What?

He felt like comforting him, but he also felt like rubbing it in. He really wanted to tell America that this is what it felt like to feel betrayed because that was the opportunity he sought out for so many years. And here it was, right in front of him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it because of that single, damn tear.

"Hey, now, America, you know things will get better. This is how things work: they go down drastically before they get better again. You're just going through the roughest times, but you always get through things. You know that, right?"

That was as comforting as he could get.

"I know. I've never had it so bad, though. Did you know New York wants to leave, and he voted for my boss to stay? That doesn't make sense."

Britain didn't know what to say. "Well, chap," he began nervously, "even the good apples have some bruises on them, so you shouldn't be surprised."

"That's what kinda sucks, you know? You think others appreciate you, yet they turn out to be really ungrateful brats," America said.

"Yes, I know. FYI, I dealt with one myself," Britain pointed out sarcastically.

"Really? Weird, I thought it was just me," America said.

"It _WAS _you, you git," Britain clarified.

"Hey! I can't be the _only_ one that wanted to become independent," America reasoned.

"No, but you were the only one that caused me so much pain, money, and embarrassment," Britain countered. "So what will you do if your states receive the approval of their secession requests?"

"Hopefully, not another civil war," America answered. "I don't think we need to repeat one of those."

"And if it does happen?"

"You won't support them, will you? Like you did with the Confederates?" America turned and gave Britain an irritated glare.

"If I do, what will you do? I don't think you can afford to fight against so many forces at once, you know," Britain stated as he lit his own cigarette.

"I hate admitting that you're right," America said.

They were quiet for a moment until Britain had the courage to say what he had on his mind.

"You know, I can't help thinking that karma's at work right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you acted like an ungrateful, selfish, rebellious brat when you sought independence and now twenty of your states are acting the same way because they don't like your government. I think there's fairness in the world after all."

"Asshole," America said as he turned his gaze away from Britain.

"So, what are you planning on doing?" Britain asked.

"I won't let them leave. Once they become part of my family, they can't leave. I'm starting to feel like Russia for some reason," America chuckled.

"Why's that?" Britain asked with a skeptical smile.

"Because he's always saying everyone will become one with Mother Russia. My states all become one with Mother America, then," America laughed.

"I see your logic there. I suggest you keep being stubborn, though," Britain said. "I thought you wouldn't be able to survive on your own after you left, but you did make it, and very well at that point. However, these are states, and they won't thrive just because they think they will. Keep them under chains if you must. Nobody's going to want to recognize small, stubborn children. Just look at Sealand."

"Who?" America asked as he continued to laugh.

"Remember the little boy that pretended to be Canada?"

"Ahaha, yeah, yeah. Poor kid, that's true."

"Same thing with your states. They're too naïve and lack the same independence you had. You didn't even need me when I came back, which is why you weren't as dependent as I thought you'd be. But they have been spoiled by you. Something sour won't taste sweet even if you add enough sugar."

America smiled. "Right. I guess I was over thinking things."

"I suggest you start working with your boss to resolve this once and for all, before it gets way too out of hand," Britain said.

"Thanks for the tips. And by the way, just in case something more drastic happens, try not to get tempted enough to want to screw around with me by supporting one of them. I will personally go to England and kick your ass if you do."

Britain chuckled at his comment. "Alright. However," he stood and looked America in the eye, "if your boss starts comparing you to Europe, I will personally go to your home and slap you and your boss silly. I don't want more idiotic comparisons. He makes me feel American."

"Whatever," America replied. "The only reason I'm American is because I was raised by a British dude."

After stating that, he stood and began walking away from Britain rather quickly, knowing the European would mind his comment a lot.

"Wanker! You should be feeling thankful I raised you instead of those other countries, especially France!"

And with that, their usual spat began.

* * *

_**A/N 2: My overall goal was characterization, so if I got that, then I am good. I know this is a serious topic for Hetalia, and I personally like writing about comical, random things instead of these kinds of issues, but I could not help myself. I also (FINALLY) started on my table challenge, not because I didn't have ideas, but because I didn't really have the time to write them. And I don't have the time to write right now, but this idea was going to die if I didn't write it soon. One last thing, the title has nothing to do with the song Thnx fr th Mmrs by Fall Out Boy. Just so y'all know.  
**_

**_R/R, please, y'all. Support is love and I'll be back soon with more fics!_**

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	2. Conception

**Title: Still Too Innocent**  
**Author: miss_auto1621  
Claim: US x UK  
Character(s): America, Britain, mentions of France  
Table/Prompt: Life/1: Conception  
Word Count: 2,258  
Rating: T because of language. I love language.  
Summary: "Hey, Britain, where do babies come from?"  
****Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Hima-papa does.  
Part of LiveJournal's HetaChallenge Table Challenge!**  


The boy ran for shelter like his brother told him to. After all, he didn't want for dear Uncle France to get him. Britain said he wanted to hurt him, which is why he had to fight France in order to keep America safe. The boy was naïve, though. He trusted his older brother because he loved him and anything he said was real and true.

He panted as he leaned on a wall after sprinting off from the grassy field he had been sitting on a few minutes prior. He and Britain were enjoying a quiet afternoon with a beautiful sky and a calm, cool breeze while they ate scones. He was also feeding his rabbit, Nantucket, pieces of the pastry so he wouldn't get hungry, but his pet had begun to reject the food after a second bite. He held the bunny in his arms and walked slowly towards an alley way that led to his home. Britain didn't know of the short cut, and if he did, he'd make America avoid going through there because he would say it was dangerous and he could get hurt, and then begin lecturing him.

For now, he had to get home, which was the safest place he knew.

He had managed to hear the rumbling conversation France had started with Britain and tried to shove it aside with a shake of his head.

"You know, Nantucket, sometimes, I wish they wouldn't fight."

The rabbit responded with a twitch of his whiskers and let the boy carry him. America watched his step as he walked deeper in the alley and wanted to take cover when he heard voices come closer to him. Could it be that France and Britain were taking their fight into the colony? America tried to make the least amount of noise as possible and crouched next to a lid-less crate. Maybe they wouldn't find him if he turned the crate to one side so he could fit into the space.

However, the people he expected did not sound like the couple that was coming closer to his location.

"What do we do?" a feminine voice asked. That was definitely _not _his Uncle France. America knew how to distinguish the man's tone of voice.

"Well, what _can _we do? There is no bloody way you're having it." That was a masculine voice, who spoke with Britain's accent, but did not resemble his voice.

America heard the girl gasp. "Excuse me? You cannot be saying I should abort! It's a baby!" She sounded hurt, as if her dignity had been shattered.

"Well, it's either that or face utter ridicule from the townspeople. What will they say? They'll make you wear the embroidered, red A! Society will shun you!" the man was beginning to raise his voice, forgetting indefinitely that they were supposed to keep quiet. Well, America could hear them just fine, seeing as he was just a few paces away from them….

"I won't be the only one that will be shunned. You have as much responsibility as I do!" America managed to cover his ears with the palms of his hands before the girl began to sob. But who was he kidding? He had discovered that covering your ears in such a manner never worked.

However, the voices seemed to be fading away, and America could only pick up a few patches of conversation.

"Don't include me in your shenanigans!" That guy sounded hysterical.

"Don't call it that! At least you figured out where babies come from!" And the girl began to cry harder.

It got to the point where America couldn't hear the couple anymore and decided to turn his head slightly to check if the coast was clear. He wasn't aware of what he had just witnessed, but he was pondering over what the girl had said. He suddenly became curious.

"You heard that, Nantucket?" America asked. "That guy found out where babies come from. I want to know, too! And I bet Britain knows!"

The boy made his way to his home to ensure his brother that he was safe from harm when he returned.

* * *

Britain came home with a sigh of frustration and a few scratches on his face and forearms. France was bitching him again, and he was not planning to stop until America belonged to him.

"Damn that bloody git," Britain murmured as he walked through the living room and into the kitchen to begin on mending his wounds.

However, before he could reach the cabinet that contained his materials for healing, he heard light footsteps running towards him.

"Britain, you're home!"

The boy's enthusiasm was reflected by his tone of voice, but he also sounded a bit desperate, worried about his brother's well being.

"Hello, America," he replied. "It took me a while, but I got rid of France and got him to leave." For now, he thought.

America encircled his arms around his waist and looked up at him with wide, blue eyes and a light of care. "Are you okay? You look hurt!"

Britain looked at his wounds and gave him a soft smile and a pat on his head. "Not to worry! They're just little cuts."

"But you're bleeding from them," America said with that cute tone, the one that came before he began to pout.

"I'll be alright, America," he said. "No wound can get me down. Now calm down."

"Okay," America replied with a smile. "Do you need help? I can help if you want me to!"

He didn't even wait for his brother's permission before grabbing a chair to reach the first aid cabinet. However, Britain carried him off the chair swiftly.

"Hold on, America. You can get hurt if you're not careful," he said as he set him on the floor. Britain was always the protective brother when it came to America and potential ways that could bring harm to him. "I'll get the materials and you can help me out, okay?"

"Aw, okay," the boy said a bit sad. He really wanted to get those materials for him.

But, alas, Britain did the deed and handed the bandages and rubbing alcohol to America, who cringed at times when Britain let out a few hisses of pain here and there. They might have been 'little cuts', but they were _a lot_. While America bandaged Britain's wounds, they conversed about what they would eat for dinner and Britain complained that France came in time to interrupt tea time.

"Hey, Britain, why do you and Uncle France fight so much? I thought you were friends," America asked as he looked at his brother.

Britain began to think. "Well, it's a little complicated to explain in a few words. I might need _days _to tell you my reasons for fighting with him. But I can tell you one of those reasons."

"Why not the other reasons?" America asked.

"Because they're not as important as this one," Britain answered.

"How important is it?"

"It is _very _important," Britain said.

"Okay, then, what is it?"

"Well, we always fight about who gets to stay here…"

America wrapped a bandage around Britain's arm rather slowly to get the answer out.

"Why? Doesn't he have a home of his own?"

"Yes, but he wants for me to leave this place completely. That is why I fight him, so that I don't have to leave."

"And if you didn't fight, then, you would have already left me alone with him?" America stopped what he was doing to give his full attention to his brother so he could see how much this impacted him.

"Yes, but don't worry. I won't let him win. I will never let him shoo me away and make me leave you. Ever," he answered adamantly as he held America's shoulders.

America didn't realize his eyes were getting a little glazed. "You fight because of me?" It had finally sunken in. "You get hurt because of me!"

He began to cry then, not knowing why this was causing so much emotion to build up inside of him. He just didn't like to see his brother get hurt because of him.

"Yes, but that is only because I care about you so much!" Britain said as he embraced him. "You don't have to cry, America! I'm your brother and that is what brothers do: we care about each other and we love each other and protect each other, no matter what. That is why I fight for you. You cannot defend yourself against the older, scary countries. They have to deal with me first if they want to get to you."

While he spoke, he rubbed America's back softly to soothe him. America relaxed and began to rub at his eyes with his free hand to dry his tears.

"You don't have to worry about this, okay?" Britain said as he took out a kerchief from his pocket and dried the boy's face. "I will do anything for my baby brother."

The word 'baby' triggered America's thoughts. He sniffled as he tried thinking of the what he wanted to ask.

"Um, Britain, I have another question for you," America said.

Britain looked at him with an attentive expression. "Yes?"

"Where do babies come from?"

His expression went from attentive to confusion as the question was processed.

"That's a…rather random question, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but I was wondering about that," America began to explain.

"Well, then, why would you think about something like that?" Britain asked. He felt like he needed to interrogate him to see who he had been interacting with.

"Oh, I overheard these two people talking about babies and how one of them didn't want to have one and another one did and—"

"Wait, where did you hear this? And what have I told you about eavesdropping on people's conversations?" Britain asked with a stern voice, the type he used when he was about to lecture him.

America chose his words carefully. He didn't want to be restricted from his short cut, now did he?

"A-a-round town," he said as he looked at his right foot, which was doing improper circles to release his uneasiness. "The one that wanted a baby cried and said that the other person knew where babies came from, so I wanted to know, too. And I was…hoping you knew as well."

Britain blushed. Oh, dear. That type of talk had come to soon. He was still a child, he was still a young colony; he did not need to know how babies were made. He did not need to know that a man and a woman did an act of love and then, conception ensued and there, they had a baby nine months later! But he could not _lie _to him about it, either. America was a smart, little colony, and would not be fooled by any sort of bullshit that floated around.

He had one option left.

"I was hoping I would have to give you this sort of talk when you were a bit older, but now that you insist; I would rather you know it now than discover it later," Britain said.

"We're going to need some tea for this one, though."

* * *

"So, babies don't come from the stork, then?" America asked.

"Sadly, no," Britain answered.

"And they are made by people who love each other very much?" America asked.

"Yes, that is correct."

"And then, a baby comes out of its mommy's tummy so it can keep living?"

"Yes."

America stared at him in awe because of the knowledge he had acquired. "That's why some ladies have big bellies? They have their babies there?"

Britain nodded.

"Wow! Do you think they would get mad if I go up to them and listen to their tummies?"

"You need to ask permission first, and you also need to make sure if a woman has a baby in her tummy, or is pregnant," Britain said before he took a sip of his tea.

"Oh, why? Don't all women have a baby in their tummies?"

"No, some already had their babies and some have not even had one," Britain explained.

"Wow! So, then, how was I born?" America asked. His little mouth formed a cute 'O' as he waited for an answer.

Britain thought of this carefully. He always wondered the same thing about every nation's birth. Then, he settled on a thought.

"The birth of a nation is very different from that of an ordinary baby," he said. "Since you're a country, you had a different forthcoming. What I do know is that you and I are related."

"How do you know we're related?" America asked, raising his eyebrows.

"It is very obvious!" Britain said with a smile. "Look at you! You have the image of a Brit without a doubt! You look just like me, too."

"So, does that mean we have the same mom?" America asked with a smile of his own.

"I am very sure of it," Britain said with a nod.

"Wow! So our mom carried us when we were babies, too?"

Britain understood, then, that America didn't quite understand what he meant when he said he had a different birth from other people.

Britain just gave him a defeated smile and a tired expression. "Yes, it seems so, she did."

'Oh, if Britannia could endure such pains of childbearing, she would be even greater than she already is,' Britain thought as America celebrated his discovery of where babies came from.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so after having this in the vault for a few months, I have finished it! I finally found the inspiration to continue it (don't you just hate it when you get stuck in a rut?), and now I shall move on to the next theme, which will (hopefully) be up some time soon. I really love kid!America and Big Brother Britain, so I wanted for this prompt to demonstrate just how innocent America (and kids, in general) can be when facing a grown-up issue. I hope you all enjoyed!**

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